


Reading For Pleasure

by Ias



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ichabod just really wants to go to the library, Overprotective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things about the future that Abbie doesn't think Ichabod is ready to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading For Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before watching past the first few episodes, so this is based off the canon up until that point!

Ichabod knew what Abbie was doing. There were only so many ways to lie to someone, and she could only distract him with the iPod device for so long. From the minute he had glimpsed the building through the flecks of rain on the car window, it was done. The marble columns, the broad steps, the words “Public Library” engraved in proud letters over the door—it all beckoned him onward. Libraries housed the past, and history seemed to hang around them like a pleasant smell. If there was one place Ichabod had a chance of feeling sane again, it would be there. But Abbie would have none of it.

“Shouldn’t I be working to educate myself?” Ichabod demanded one night. She had settled onto the couch, plastic controller in hand, under the pretense of watching the pictures. Ichabod knew an excuse when he saw one. “You might recall I’m a couple hundred years behind the times.”

“Have you forgotten about the apocalypse thing?” Abbie said, leaning back into the cushions pointedly. “The last thing you need is a history lesson.”

“Although I concede that it might not be first among our various tasks, I assure you it is far from last.” He turned on his heel, pacing across the carpet. His new clothes felt strange in a way he couldn’t describe, and it was starting to bother him. “All I require is one day. I would catch up on events, and with my knowledge become much more useful to you.”

Abbie sighed through her nose and stared tight-jawed at the blank glass square in front of her. “Ichabod, a lot has happened since you halfway-died. I just think you should take it slow.”

“I’ve fought in a war. I think I can handle reading about a few,” Ichabod shot back. “Besides, are you forgetting I was a professor during my time before the Revolution? Information is my province.”

Abbie raised her eyebrows. “Information, huh? Well then my crusty old friend, let me introduce you to the wonders of educational television.” With a flick of her wrist she summoned a picture on the screen—an image of a lion panting in the noonday heat, which quickly faded to a sunset.

“ _Life is hard for a lone male on the African plain,”_ an English voice was saying.

After a moment of begrudging silence Ichabod trudged over to the sofa and lowered himself down beside his short and abstinent friend.

“You cannot keep me distracted forever,” he muttered darkly. Abbie just smirked and turned up the volume.

 

 

"Lieutenant Mills!" Ichabod's familiar shout echoed through the house and dragged Abbie out of much-needed nap. Fighting evil was exhausting. Making sure a 200 year old revolutionary war vet didn’t electrocute himself with a toaster was enough to drop her like a sack of bricks. When she stumbled down the stairs expecting fire or mass destruction, she was almost relieved to see Ichabod sitting in front of her old desktop computer. That relief was quickly replaced with panic.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, stepping forward to see what was on the screen. A mostly-blank Microsoft word document stared impassively back at her, the cursor blinking placidly after the single word on the screen: "history".

"I was attempting to search the internet web," Ichabod said stiffly, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. "The machine was not cooperating."

With a sigh, Abbie sank down into a chair beside him and took hold of the mouse. "I'm just glad you didn't accidentally delete all the files on my computer. Despite the fact that you were going behind my back."

"Your dedication to preventing me from acquiring knowledge gave me little other choice," he replied. "I merely wish to educate myself."

Abbie stared at him for a moment. There was a familiar glint of stubbornness in his eyes that she'd seen plenty of times—on her sister's face, and in the mirror. No way was he going to drop the issue.

"Alright," she said, opening the browser. "Here's a site that'll get you started on what you should know. You can click around, explore. Educate yourself. Just don't go anywhere else. I don’t want you screwing up years of meticulous digital filing."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Ichabod said, sounding fairly surprised as he leaned forward to scrutinize the webpage. "It's very colorful."

"Welcome to the future," Abbie said as she walked away. The website might not keep him busy for long—it was the same one that the local school system used for kids in grade school. Most of the information there would be watered down and harmless.

It wasn't that she felt guilty for keeping him in the dark—well, there was definitely some guilt involved. Maybe she wasn't doing the right thing here, but she couldn't help wanting to protect him. The complexities of modern life were one thing. The bones it was built on were another.

She remembered history class, how one by one the horrors of the past had been laid on her, year by year. A lot had happened in the past 200 years. She'd had time to adjust. Ichabod wouldn't. She knew he wasn't a child, and was nowhere close to naive. But some part of her felt responsible for him, and that part wanted to protect him.

It was better to take it slow, she decided.  If not better, then safer.

 

 

Ichabod didn't mind hanging around the police station while Abigail met with her superiors. The police officers may have minded it a bit more, seeing as many of them still clung to their idea of Ichabod as an axe-wielding murderer, or unhinged at the very least. A few of them had begun warming up to him, though. A fact he was happy to take advantage of.

He hadn't bothered commenting to Abigail about the shoddy and vacuous record keeping on the internet she had supplied him. He had discovered some cursory facts, the names and dates of specific wars and a few important names, but he needed to go deeper. With no other source of information left to him, he defaulted on human resources.

"What is your favorite historical event from the past 200 years?" Ichabod asked, sliding into the chair near Officer Baker's desk.

She looked up at him with a dubious expression. "That's a pretty specific question."

Ichabod smiled. People seemed to cooperate more when he did that. "Humor me?"

Baker leaned back and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know. It's not something I think about too much. I guess maybe the March on Washington."

Ichabod frowned. "What, was the capital conquered in a war?"

"No, I mean from the civil rights movement. With Dr. King's 'I have a dream' speech."

"Ah." Ichabod nodded knowingly. "And how did that go, exactly?"

Baker frowned. "Uh. It started with 'I have a dream'. I don't have it memorized."

Hiding his disappointment, Ichabod leaned back. "That's quite alright. Do you have a _least_ favorite historical event?"

Baker looked at him even more oddly than before. "I mean. That's kind of hard." Ichabod said nothing as she thought about it. "Well—"

"Crane." Lieutenant Mills's voice interrupted them. She was standing on the other side of the office in uniform, her eyebrows raised. "Time to go."

With an apologetic smile to Baker, Ichabod followed Abigail out of the precinct. It was hard not to believe she had not been aware of the conversation she'd interrupted. No matter. He was persistent. And in the end, he would know.

 

 

The door opened on a suspiciously quiet house. Not that Abbie was complaining, but normally Ichabod would have used even a brief trip to the grocery as an excuse to run around turning everything on and off until something short circuited. Either he was finally learning how to be an adult in the twenty-first century, or something was wrong.

“Ichabod?” she called out. “I’m back from the conference. It went fine, in case you were curious.” Apparently he wasn’t; the house stayed silent. With a sigh, she shrugged off her coat and started a quick sweep of the rooms. She hoped he hadn’t discovered some exciting new food allergy while she was gone. Who knew what modern cuisine would do to an eighteenth century digestive system. Burger King had been a brief success followed by a long and unpleasant failure. Her bathroom would never be the same.

A few minutes later she had checked every room. A few minutes after that she had checked them twice, and about fifteen minutes after _that_ she had turned the house inside out with no sign. It was hopeless. She had been gone for four hours—she had a good idea where he might be.

When she burst in through the front doors of the library she quickly earned herself a dirty look from the librarian sitting at the front desk. Abbie hurried over to him, mustering an apologetic smile that may have just come off as desperate.

"Sorry about that," she said in a low voice. "I'm looking for a friend of mine—tall, British accent, kind of weird—"

"I remember him," the librarian said vaguely. "He asked for the history section. I sent him to the 710s."

"Thanks so much," she said, hurrying off in that direction. A second later she returned, a sheepish expression on her face. "Where is that, exactly?"

She found him holed up in a back corner of the library, open books surrounding him like a blast radius. He was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the wall, a pocket encyclopedia held between the fingers of one hand and an indecipherable expression on his face. Abbie slowed as she approached him She didn't know what to expect.

"Mustard gas. Genocide. Atomic warfare. Terrorism. Human ingenuity has certainly taken great leaps of brutality since I've been dead." His eyes raised to hers as he recited. "Is this what you were trying to keep from me?"

Abbie stopped in front of him, grasping for something to say. "Ichabod, I'm sorry."

"Sorry you tried to shelter me, or sorry that I found out?" There wasn't anger in his voice, Abbie was relieved to hear. He just sounded tired.

"A little of both," she admitted, sinking down onto the floor across from him. "I didn't want you to have to deal with all this right now. Not with what's going on. I figured the end of the world was enough to worry about."

Ichabod closed the book and set it down. It was a quiet gesture, but one with a kind of weight to it. "I appreciate all that you've done for me, Lieutenant Mills."

"Ichabod—"

"I understand how you might worry for me. You do not think me suited for modern life. You are right." Abbie was quiet, biting down on all the words that came surging up to her lips.

 "However, if I am not allowed to fully understand the world which I now find myself in, how will I ever belong to it? I cannot embrace ignorance, even if it is the easier way." His fingers splayed out over the pages of his books to give them a gentle pat. "There is great cruelty in these books, and nothing supernatural—the work of men, and for that reason all the more heinous. But evil was alive and well when I lived my life, and will continue after I die. I cannot hide from it. Neither can you."

Abbie looked away, her mouth twisting ruefully. History professor or Civil War soldier, he certainly knew how to give a good speech. "You're right. Obviously. I was treating you like a child, and I'm sorry. I just knew you'd hear about all these horrible things, and…" She shrugged helplessly. "I just wanted you to think the world was worth saving."

"But I do," Ichabod said, sounding surprised. "As horrific as the deeds of the past can be, I have always maintained faith that the good must outweigh the bad—even if the bad is what we remember the most."

Abbie shook her head. "Alright, I guess I screwed up."

"No, you were merely doing what you thought was best. I cannot say that I would have acted differently, in your situation." His eyes wandered down to the books around him. He'd always been good at hiding his feelings, when he wanted to; but Abbie could see a weary sadness in the line of his brow, the set of his jaw.

With a gentle hand, she reached out to touch his arm. "You okay?"

Ichabod mustered a smile. "Of course. The past can only hurt us if we let it, as they say. I'm not sure how much stock I put in that, but it's a nice sentiment."

"Well Professor," Abbie said with a nod towards the books, "you certainly have your work cut out for you. There's a whole library full of books here. And not all of them are about something bad."

He nodded. "I should like to return here more often," Ichabod said. "If you are agreeable."

"I am. We've saved the world a couple times over by now. I think we deserve a bit of a break." Scooting up to the wall beside him, Abbie reached over to a nearby shelf and selected a book at random. "In fact, I wouldn't mind staying here myself. I'm pretty far behind in my reading." Flipping the title over, she winced.

"Ah," Ichabod exclaimed softly as he read it over her shoulder. " _Bubonic Plague: Scourge of the Century._ Here is a catastrophe I've actually heard of."

"Maybe something a little lighter," Abbie said as she put it back. There was a time and place for gloom and doom. 


End file.
